


(Hello) Is it you I'm looking for?

by maiNuoire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Jackson Comes Back, Law Enforcement Officer Stiles, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiNuoire/pseuds/maiNuoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson returns to Beacon Hills and sees Stiles for the first time in almost ten years. He is caught off guard by his sudden realization that Stiles is hot, and Jackson wants him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Hello) Is it you I'm looking for?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TW Glompfest 2016
> 
> Stackson is a little tricky for me still, so I hope I captured their dynamic well. I plan to expand this, if y'all are interested, so please let me know if you want more! (I also have a Sterek reunion fic in the works)
> 
> Thank you so much to Emma, Angie, and Cassie for beta-ing! (and dragon-temeraire, for helping me not hate my first 500 words)

Jackson shouldn’t have been surprised to run into Stiles in Beacon Hills. After he’d decided to move back and try to reconnect with whatever remains of a pack were still around, he made peace with the idea of seeing Stiles again. He knew that the man he had once, well, _antagonized_ was probably the most accurate word for it, was back in town working as some sort of liaison between the Sheriff’s Department and some higher agency with an acronym. So he wasn’t really surprised to see him less than a week after he settled back in, standing in the grocery store contemplating the label on a jar of pasta sauce like it held the secrets to the universe; it would have been weirder if it had taken any longer, really.

 

What caught him off guard was the way that his broad shoulders were clearly well muscled now, showcased casually in a tight red shirt that hugged his frame and hinted at a strong, lean back and well defined arms. The well fitting jeans that encased enticingly thick thighs and molded to a round, perky ass was another surprise, and the accompanying twitch in his pants was particularly jarring. He could only see his profile, but he remembered enough of what Stiles looked like that the glimpse of what the last ten years had done for Stiles’ full lips and freckled cheeks was enough to fill in the blanks. And he was startled to discover that he really, really liked what he saw.

 

He found himself wishing that Stiles would turn around, but was unable to call out the “ _Hey, Stilinski,_ ” that was on the tip of his tongue. He stood, frozen in place, just staring at the side of Stiles’ face, raking his gaze up and down the long- _Jeez, was he always so tall?_ \- line of his body, until he felt his dick start to respond, noticed Stiles’ shoulders tense as though he was finally aware of the heavy gaze resting upon him. The sudden awareness unglued his feet from the polished white floors and propelled him to duck into the closest aisle.

 

To hide.

 

 _What are you doing?_ Jackson chided himself. “I should just go say hello. It’s just Stiles.” Shaking his head at his own cowardice, he attempted to ignore the persistent tightness in his pants.

 

Jackson took a deep breath, exhaling too loudly and taking a single wide step to bring him back into the main walkway. When he turned to go down the next aisle toward where Stiles was, he found it completely devoid of former acquaintances.

 

“Damnit,” he said, loud enough to garner a dirty look from an elderly woman who was filling her cart with noodles. He waved a halfhearted apology, but when a quick perusal of the rest of the store didn’t turn up any trace of Stiles, he swore again and couldn't muster the energy to notice if anyone reacted to him.

 

*****

 

Running into Stiles was proving very difficult. Beacon Hills was relatively small, and Jackson was trying _very hard_.

 

He returned to the grocery store at the same time for the next few days. He visited the diner that he vaguely remembered Stiles enjoying at lunch. And dinner. He casually drove down the Stilinski’s street, in case Stiles was staying with his dad. He stopped by Scott’s vet clinic, and though it was nice to catch up with him, Stiles wasn’t randomly visiting, and Jackson couldn’t bring himself to ask about him. He even considered calling the Sheriff, or popping into the station, but couldn’t make it past the parking lot.

 

Sure, he had _seen_ Stiles. He’d seen him walking to his car while driving by the Sheriff’s Station. He’d seen him walking into the diner while he was on his way to an appointment and unable to take a detour; he had sworn so loudly, Jackson was almost convinced Stiles had heard him.

 

He had seen Stiles exiting the grocery store, and the station, and his dad’s house.

 

He just hadn’t seen Stiles in a place where he could actually _talk_ to Stiles.

 

It occurred to him at some point that he was being ridiculous. It’s just… he was used to getting what he wanted, and- _Shit, when did Stiles become something I want_?

 

So, of course, it finally happened when Jackson was not only completely unprepared, but having an actual out loud argument with himself in his car. After his revelation that he _wanted_ Stiles had hit him while he was driving to the grocery store (for the third time in as many days, because he never bought more than necessary to justify his wander through the aisles, and there’s only so far that juice, some carrots and apples, and a few assorted cans of soups and vegetables can get you) he had to pull over to contain his subsequent freak out.

 

Jackson threw his head back against the body-warm leather headrest, sighing dramatically enough that even he recognized it as such. With an unnecessarily  forceful flick of his wrist, he flipped the visor down and slid the cover off the mirror.

 

“Listen,” he practically snarled at his reflection, finger pointing accusingly at his thankfully still wholly human reflection, “You are Jackson Whittemore. You do not just sit back and _wait_  for things to happen! You see something you want, you make it happen.”

 

If he were a friend of his, he would be thoroughly unimpressed. He could see Stiles now, rolling his eyes and staring him down with an impressively loud, _“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”_ expression; the thought, the memory of that particular irritation painted on Stiles features makes him smile. He is startled for a moment by how fond and soft it makes his reflected expression, and he is momentarily unable to look at his face.

 

That too, makes him scoff, because he can practically hear a teenaged Stiles bemoaning Jackson’s vanity. His eyes find their way back to their reflection, and he takes a deep breath to prepare to give himself what he is certain will be a rousing pep talk, or at least one that beats anything Finstock ever managed. His exhale turns into a yelp when it’s interrupted by a sharp _tap-tap-tap_ on his window. He doesn’t jump though. He _doesn’t_. Much.

 

As he turns toward the window, he is prepared to unleash a scathing, curse laden admonishment to whomever it is that so rudely interrupted his meltdown, but upon seeing a very familiar smirk and set of warm, whiskey eyes peering at him through the glass, all the fight drains out of him in a rush of breath.

 

After staring blankly for a moment, Stiles rolls his eyes and makes a twirling motion with his fingers, spurring Jackson to scramble for the button that will lower the window.

 

Before he can compose himself to even say _hello_ , Stiles, _of course,_ is the first to open his mouth. “Is there a reason you're parked illegally in front of Angela Neilsen’s house and -I quote- _arguing with yourself like a loon_ , Jacks? ‘Cause I gotta say, this is an awfully strange way to see you again for the first time in the better part of a decade.” His voice is still shockingly deep, and the sardonic edge is so familiar it feels like he's sixteen again for a moment.

 

Then the rest of what Stiles said sinks in, and Jackson's confusion must show on his face because Stiles gestured toward the house that Jackson has apparently been terrorizing for the last however long. Jackson turned to see that there is a little grey haired lady peeking around a partially opened door with a sour look on her face.

 

“Don't worry, Mrs. N, I've got the crazy man under control,” Stiles yelled, punctuating it with a friendly smile and wave that did absolutely nothing to lessen the frisson of arousal that shot through him at the idea of being under Stiles’ control. The woman nodded and slowly clsoed the door, watching them both until the last possible second in the manner of neighborhood busybodies everywhere.

 

When Stiles turned back to Jackson, his smile wavering ever so slightly and Jackson felt his stomach tighten with the reminder that despite his dick’s recent interest, he and Stiles were never actually friends. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, managing a lame, “Hey, Stilinski.”

 

“If you're going to have a _Fight Club_ moment in public, you might want to think about a less conspicuous car, Jackson,” Stiles replied lightly, eyeing the sleek lines of his latest model _Porsche_.

 

Jackson answered with a forced laugh before finding his voice. “I'll keep that in mind, Stiles.” After all this time, using the nickname felt strange in his mouth, too intimate somehow. He physically shakes the thought away. “Nice costume, though. When did you start playing dress up for a living?” he asked, using the commentary as an excuse to let his eyes roam over Stiles, taking in the sleek lines of his dark suit pants and fitted red shirt, the gun belt and shiny metal shield no less impressive for its ambiguous issuance.

 

Jackson took a moment to wonder why he was being such a jerk, falling back into old habits so easily when this time around he wanted Stiles to like him. To _want_ him. Before he can wince at his own misstep, the sound of Stiles’ laughter startled him out of his introspection.

 

“Well,” Stiles chuckled, “I can't say I missed your awful attempts at flattery, Jackson, but it's nice to see a familiar face around town.”

 

“This uh, this isn't actually the first time I've seen you,” Jackson semi blurtedout, his own surprise at his abrupt candor mirrored on Stiles’ face. He didn’t look upset, just surprised and… curious? A flutter of hope passes through Jackson; he can work with curiosity. “Yeah, I've seen you around, but apparently you're a hard man to run into,” he purred into the last few words, letting his gaze linger a little longer than could be taken as _friendly_.

 

There’s a flare of heat in Stiles’ eyes, and his tongue darted over his bottom lip leaving it wet and shiny.Jackson almost moaned.

 

Stiles grinned and Jackson tried not to return it, feeling like he won something.

 

“If you can't run into me in this town, you're not trying hard enough, Jacks,” Stiles’ voice was smooth and full of just enough teasing that Jackson knew his innuendo wasn't missed. He barely suppressed a growl, because he had, in fact, been trying hard. Really hard, actually. He must let a little slip through, because Stiles shivered slightly, his pupils dilating. “So, you gonna tell me what you were yelling about that upset Mrs. N so much, or do I have to cuff you to something and drag it outta you?” Stiles asked, his tone _way_ more suited for the bedroom than an interrogation, his eyes raking over Jackson in a way that made his skin tingle.

 

His smirk and the way he leaned against the car, casually in charge and confident in a way he wasn't years ago, told Jackson that they were both falling into old patterns, with the twist of flirtation and interest that made Jackson excited and terrified all at once.

 

With some effort, Jackson managed a decidedly throaty, “Yeah, let's talk about it over dinner.” And then, for good measure and with his best toothpaste ad worthy smile, he added, “This town get a decent restaurant since I left?”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poetry-protest-pornography) for a whole lotta Sterek, a little bit of Stackson, and a healthy dose of feminism and superheroes!


End file.
